Blue Bells of Scotland: Book One of the Blue Bells Trilogy (29 page)

"You can't expect me to go on an empty stomach," Shawn said.

The man tucked his hands into his sleeves, and turned around.

Shawn leapt from the bench and followed him out into the hall. "I can even survive without a milkshake, but how about a full meal at least!"

The monk led him silently to his room to collect his harp. Still grumbling about food, he started wrapping his monk's garb. "Leave it in the press," said the monk. Shawn hesitated, then hung it inside on a peg, with a dozen identical garments.

"I guess I'm ready," he said. Twenty yards down the hall, he tried again. "I need to know which way to Inverness. Or a McDonald's."

"Certainly."

"Thank God!" Shawn said. "Hallelujah!"

The monk smiled, a small, tight smile. "There's a MacDonald in the hall."

"You're kidding! They're even in monasteries now? How did I miss that?"

The monk didn't answer, but spoke to someone else. "He is here." There, near the door, stood the boy, his back to Shawn, his cowl up, and his foot tapping impatiently. The monk glided silently away, and the boy turned, flinging back his hood.

Shawn's jaw dropped.

Inverness, Scotland, Present

With cash in his pocket, and impatience in his spirit, Niall walked with Amy back through the old stone buildings of Inverness. They passed another of the infernal portraits of the frolicking Shawn. He sat on a ruined castle wall amidst green fields, holding the sackbut. Two buxom young women in tartan skirts and billowy-sleeved shirts leaned in on either side, painted in the very act of kissing him on either cheek. A third clutched enraptured hands to her breast. This time, Niall made out all the words:
Shawn Kleiner Celebrates the Best of Scotland!
Niall shook his head in disbelief. People thought this was him!

"You loved them when you did the photo shoot," Amy said. They reached the River Ness and crossed one of its seven bridges.

"I was a different man," Niall replied.

They strolled the sidewalk along the river till they reached the restaurant: The Two-Eyed Traitor. "A strange name," he said, studying the sign. Two faces, identical but for different colored eyes, peered opposite directions. "Having two eyes would hardly seem a noteworthy trait."

Amy glanced up at the sign. "I thought it must be a Scottish variation on two-faced. Either way, there's a story behind it." She laughed. "There's always a story. Way back when, some guy sold out his clan to the English in battle."

"People don't change," Niall said. "What battle was that?"

Amy shrugged. "There have been so many. I think his coat of arms is displayed here, or his tartan, or something."

Niall ushered her in. From the entry, he surveyed the pleasant flickering of a fire; soft lights, crisp white linens, finer than even Longshanks must have had. The wide expanse of carpet was soft under his boxy shoes, and as clean as if no foot had ever trod upon it. Music tinkled from the large, black instrument in the corner, vaguely like an overgrown virginal. Glasses clinked an ostinato and voices droned, with occasional laughter breaking out, like a dove bursting to carefree flight above the fray.

It would be easy to stay here, enjoying luxury and leisure beyond a king's wildest dreams. It would be easy to stop worrying about Hugh.

The scene darkened before his eyes. Edward's wildest dream was to slaughter the Scots. And though all appeared well for these people, seven hundred years later, it would not be well for Allene and the Laird and all he knew and loved. He must get back. He wondered—the man had said you could find anything on this internet—could he find if Hugh had been there? It was a ridiculous thought. Shawn couldn't accomplish that. If Niall could just get back and make his way through the Great Glen, all would be well.

A whisper ran through the dining room. Niall realized people were staring at him.

"Mr. Kleiner." A man in a black suit with a crisp, white shirt bustled forward, bowing low. "We are honored, sir." He glanced at Amy barely long enough for a head count. "Table for two?" He led them through a gauntlet of greetings, proffered hands, and enthusiastic comments about his last concert, to a secluded corner. A candle flickered on the table. "Your menu." The man in the black suit presented Niall with a large, shiny brochure. Niall stared, not knowing what to do with it. Amy open hers. He copied her. But his thoughts slid back to Hugh.

"You're a million miles away," Amy said.

"Hm?" He peered at her over the top of his
menu
.

"Your menu is upside down. Out there, it was like you were seeing something else."

Niall stared thoughtfully at the letters on the
menu
, turned it right side up, and studied them again. Reading was easier than it had been. The spelling looked less like gibberish. But he wondered why Amy wished to read before eating.

Their eyes darted uncomfortably at each other over the candlelight. A servant appeared with two crystal glasses of water sparkling on ice, each with a lemon floating in it. Amy started reading again. Niall did likewise, making out
venison
and
trout
. The servant reappeared, hovering quietly with a sheaf of parchment and poised quill.

"What are you having?" Amy asked.

"Having?" he repeated.

"It's a restaurant. What do you want?"

"I can...choose?" He had expected tables laden with repast, or a stream of servants bringing food as they did at the castle.

"Of course you can." She smiled. "You're paying."

"A loaf of bread, then."

"A loaf, sir?" the servant asked.

"A whole loaf?" Amy repeated.

"Soup, eel."

"Eel? Did you say eel?" the servant asked. The black-suited man hurried over. He must be the steward, Niall decided.

"Where did you find that?" Amy searched her
menu
.

The servant looked to the steward, who nodded furiously.

"Pigeon pie, woodcock, salmon," Niall added, thinking of all his favorite things at the Laird's table. The waiter scribbled swiftly. Amy would certainly be pleased with him for providing this fine feast!

"Can't you make it easy and order off the menu?" Amy whispered, a little fiercely.

"Of course," Niall said obligingly. "Venison and trout would be good! And as we're celebrating, a boar's head!"

"A boar's head?" Amy asked in disbelief.

"A...boar's head, sir?" The servant swallowed.

"Anything you like, Mr. Kleiner," the steward said loudly. He nudged the servant, who scribbled, frowning.

"Aye," Niall agreed cheerfully. "And plenty of ale!" At another table, a man handed his menu back to a servant. Niall did likewise.

"I'll have the chicken salad," Amy said.

"You'll not share my meal?" Niall asked in surprise.

She rolled her eyes, and handed her menu to the servant, who hurried away to consult with the steward.

"I've done something wrong," Niall said.

"Just—being yourself," Amy replied. "I keep wondering if this change is for real. You're so different, it's like it's not really you."

Niall said nothing. He didn't want to find out what happened to imposters here. In his own time, he'd be hanged. He wondered, uncomfortably, if Shawn was foolish enough to put himself at such risk, if he were, in fact, in Niall's time. He felt a twinge of pity for the man, who was most certainly not living the comfortable life to which he was accustomed.

"And then you're right back to your arrogant self, making people jump through hoops, just because you can. Look at them!" She nodded toward the steward, gesturing frantically at his staff. "They're actually going to dig up a boar's head for you!"

"Dig it up?" Did they keep boar's heads underground in this strange time? It didn't sound appealing. Maybe that was why she was displeased.

"I guess it's better than what you did in Edinburgh." She sighed. "I can't believe I stayed with you this long. You realize it's going to take them forever to find a boar's head. What was it you wanted help with?"

"The Battle of the Pools." He instantly dismissed the question of where he'd gone wrong. It was of little matter.

"The battle they were talking about last night?"

He nodded. "The man in the pawn shop said I can find anything on the
inter...net."
The word came out slowly, having been rolled around in rehearsal in his mind for the last hour.

"That's news to you?" She shook her head. "Sorry. I get the whole amnesia thing, but I've never actually known anyone with it. It's hard to understand you finding the internet big news."

"Yes," he agreed, for lack of anything better to say. "Can you help me find this internet and anything about the Battle of the Pools? And maybe a man named Hugh?"

"That's what you wanted?" she asked. "A man named Hugh. That's kind of vague." She sipped her water. "Of course I can help you with that, but...." One hand gestured futilely, as if reaching for some sensible answer. She settled for a weak, "Why?"

He smiled. "Let's enjoy dinner. But you'll help me afterward? You promised."

"Of course." She nodded. "That's easy. I thought you'd ask for more. I just wish I could understand what happened to you."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he said softly, smiling over the flickering candle.

"So you do know what happened. You keep saying you don't. And there are so many things you don't remember. Or say you don't. What am I supposed to believe?"

"Can you believe I need help, and trust me?"

She stared at the tablecloth and blinked hard. "You've told me so many times to trust you. Why would I be stupid enough to do it again?" She raised her eyes, waiting for his answer.

Niall stared pointedly at the ring on her finger. It flashed in the candle's tiny flame. She picked up his gaze, blushed, twisted the ring, and cleared her throat. "I said I'll help. I will. Anything else, I still need more reason to trust you."

There was an awkward silence. Niall wondered how one held a conversation with a woman. The things he would have talked about with Allene would hardly do. He fell back on his supposed amnesia. "Tell me—remind me—about yerself."

"Remind you?" she said. "You probably didn't know half of it to begin with. I was never the important one here."

"Of course you're important," Niall said, in surprise. "You're talented, lovely, and kind. I took your ring, and still you helped me through that rehearsal!"

She blushed furiously. "It was nothing."

"You saved my life!" he insisted. "I thought Conrad was going to run me through with his baton!"

She laughed. He liked seeing her happy, instead of distrusting and angry. He added, just to see her laugh again, "I thought the brass were going to throw me from the tower, the things they were saying. But tell me about yourself."

She laughed again, clearly embarrassed, looking at the ceiling, at her hands, and finally at Niall. "I was born in New York."

"I know of York."

"Thank goodness you remember something. We play there a couple of times a year." She twirled her glass by its elegant stem. The lemon twisted in slow circles. "You know I play violin."

He kept his thought—
that's what it's called!
—to himself.

"What else is there?" she asked.

To sum up a life by place of birth and instrument! "Amy, you think too little of yourself!"

"So did you," she said. "I guess you convinced me."

"I was wrong," he said, hating Shawn. "How did you learn to play violin?"

He drew her out till she spoke freely about
schools
for music— entire buildings full of tutors—and a very important one called Juilliard, which she'd attended. "I just lucked out and played well on the audition." She'd named her cats Quarter and Half Note. "Kind of stupid," she apologized. "But at least it's not Ebony and Ivory." He wanted to tell her about his hobbin, an unusually affectionate pony, that whickered for him when he came into the stables, but he couldn't.

"I would love to live in the country and have a horse someday," she said, sipping her water.

"Is that not easy enough?" he asked.

She laughed. "You've forgotten how much things like that cost." He couldn't tell her his own dreams for the future, though he wanted to.

"I love Bach. The composer," she clarified at his blank look.

He found it hard to understand an entire life spent writing new music. In his world, music was handed down, one generation to another, around the fire in the great hall, on winter nights. But then, what he'd seen of music in rehearsal today was far more complex than anything he'd ever known. He couldn't tell her any of that, couldn't tell her how fascinating he found it, or his idea of trying to create such a thing with the Laird's musicians. So he asked more questions.

She painted. "The forest scene in my apartment, I did that."

She had grown patient babysitting five young cousins. "I found the twins one morning, stark naked feeding apple pie to the dog."

He laughed. They sounded like boys of his time. He resisted the urge to tell her about the Morrison twins' antics, saying instead, "You must love your cousins very much."

She nodded, her eyes going soft. "They like you, too. You're so kind when it's just us."

And her eyes, he slowly realized, were a deep sapphire blue in the candlelight, striking against her black hair. And he was leaning across the table, enjoying himself far too much. He looked away, breaking the moment that had stolen around them. He couldn't and shouldn't notice her eyes.

Thankfully, the servants appeared, a stream of them, bearing eel, and salmon, bread and ale and pigeon pie. The other patrons gaped at the magnificent boar's head, apple in mouth, carried high above the servant's head on a huge silver platter, through the middle of the restaurant. They piled platters on Niall's table and an extra one nearby. Niall breathed in the sweet smells with a huge smile, eyes closed. He opened them to see Amy looking at him, shaking her head.

"How in the world are you going to eat all that?" she asked. The servant set her salad in front of her.